


i’d take care of you (we can’t hide the way it makes us glow)

by gratefulnblissful (possibilist)



Series: moon river [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, it’s literally just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/gratefulnblissful
Summary: 'when you got married, during the summer, like you were supposed to anyway before the world imploded, you promised care—to and for one another, deeply and as seriously as you can remember meaning anything in a long, long time. it holds up, you think, in all the ways that matter.'or: the future is soft.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: moon river [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183226
Comments: 22
Kudos: 202





	i’d take care of you (we can’t hide the way it makes us glow)

**Author's Note:**

> idk. they're just gentle, figured we could all use it rn. hope you're all safe
> 
> obviously this wasn't proofread, all typos are definitely mine.

_it's no good unless it grows  
feel this burning love of mine_

— beach house, ‘take care’

/

when you wake up, tobin isn’t in bed next to you. you wake up because you’re cold, because you haven’t slept alone in over a year, because you love her. you get up slowly and aren’t surprised when you find her in the office and studio space you’ve created, painting on a small canvas. you stand in the doorway for a few moments, watching her bathed in the soft light of the lamp she’s turned on and the moon filtering, on a rare, clear night, through the window.

eventually you say, ‘come back to bed, my love.’

she turns to you, big brown eyes and messy hair and cheekbones sharp in the shadow. you love her, you love her.

she puts her paints down and stands. you’re not sure what she’s upset about, but you can guess: you remember burning up with a fever, and tobin tearfully pulling down her mask—just for a moment—to kiss you goodbye outside of the ER. you remember when she picked you up the next morning, after the soothing fluids and pain meds that flowed into your IV, that let your fever break. you remember all of the small ways she made sure you were warm, and fed, and safe. you remember her calling your dad to apologize for not caring for you well enough as she drove you to the hospital in the middle of the night. you remember her praying.

you’ve seen yourself in the mirror, pale and exhausted, thinner than your already slender frame should allow for. you feel winded after running a mile, have barely started weight training again; your yoga flows are shorter and slower than you prefer.

but, ‘i’m okay,’ you say, lacing your fingers with hers when she walks to your side. you squeeze, lead her down the hallway. when you lie down in bed she curls up, her cheek against your chest: listening to your heartbeat, you’re sure of it. ‘i’m okay,’ you say again, and run your fingers through her hair while she cries still, quiet tears hot against your t-shirt. you linger awake longer than she does; her breathing evens out peacefully after a while, and you’ll have to talk about it eventually. for now you kiss her forehead and place your palm on the warm skin of her hip, above the waistband of her boxers, and you fall asleep.

/

when you got married, during the summer, like you were supposed to anyway before the world imploded, you promised care—to and for one another, deeply and as seriously as you can remember meaning anything in a long, long time.

it holds up, you think, in all the ways that matter: your family and your friends had been little digital squares on your computer while you had your Zoom on gallery view, and tobin had been wearing sneakers and really none of it was how you had imagined your life going. but you’d spent unending months with her, have loved her for as long as you can remember, and maybe even longer than that.

pinoe pronounced you ‘wife and wife!’ and everyone cheered. it was a messy kiss—your first, a kiss you’ve had too many times to keep track of—because you’d both smiled into it.

you’d had champagne and cake afterward and you couldn’t help but spin her ring around her finger a few times while your sisters collectively made a very embarrassing toast.

/

‘christen,’ she says, clearly bewildered and in pain, but you know it’ll be worth it. ‘what are we doing?’

you brought her to a parking lot near your apartment, and even in her intrigue she’s pouting, fidgeting with her new boot.

you take a pack of tennis balls out of the little bag you have with you and hand them to her, gesture toward the abandoned building to your left.

‘it looked like you wanted to throw things, when you told me about your scans earlier.’ her face has a weird mix of emotions on it and you never get _tobin_ things wrong anymore but worry nags at you, just slightly. ‘this is the best i could safely do on short notice.’

she takes a deep breath, looks down at the tennis balls, and then back up at you with a blinding smile, and a little bubble of laughter fights its way out of her chest.

‘i love you,’ she says. ‘you’re so weird.’

you shrug, pleased and relieved. ‘i love you too.’

tobin spends the next half hour flinging the tennis balls at the building, and you run after them sometimes. you’re sure to anyone driving by you would look absolutely insane but it makes both of you laugh eventually and you’ve been through injuries before; you’ll get through this one too.

when tobin tires out she collects the balls and puts them all in the front pocket of her hoodie with a satisfied and amused little smile.

‘thank you,’ she says.

‘always.’

/

when you get back from florida—jetlagged and physically spent and having missed her, a lot, more than you had really been prepared for—tobin shows you the whole spread of food she’d made or ordered. she’s a messy person; you’ve made peace with her brain’s trouble with any and all forms of organization. but for all of that, she’s almost compulsively clean, making sure there’s very rarely more than three days of laundry, and that all the surfaces in your home are dust free every week. she deep cleans the bathroom twice a month. you don’t understand things about her, even now, although you know them well, and love them well.

there are to-go boxes scattered across the island, but everything has just been vacuumed and the blanket she’d designed for you is folded neatly on the back of the couch.

you happily put all kinds of food on your plate after you shower.

‘welcome home, baby,’ she says.

‘i missed you.’

‘i missed you too.’

she tastes like your favorite chana when you kiss her; you smile into the warm spices lingering on her lips.

/

you’ve grown leaps and bounds as a person over the past five years, physically, sure, but also mentally, emotionally, spiritually. you’ve worked hard in therapy, worked hard to share things with your family and your friends and your wife.

for all of that, though, for as sure as you are about how lucky you are, being back on a pitch during the olympics is a little triggering. you feel more anxious than you have in a while, even though you’re focused and sure and steady.

tobin notices, of course she does, and most mornings she drags herself out of bed to pray alongside you as you meditate. she always grabs your stuff after practice, makes sure you ice your hamstring when it tugs, just a little.

she’s playing on borrowed time, at this point, with her ankle and her back, and you both know it. she’s made peace with it, in her art and through her love, but when you win it brings you to tears: you had won for both of you. a labor of love, and the joy of it all.

she kisses you soundly in the locker room with your gold medals around your necks.

/

she builds you a house. you’re in a rental a block from the strand in manhattan beach when you first move to LA — your last season, you know, because you want a family and football has given you an entire world but you’ve made one all your own too. the rental is beautiful, and it’s big and furnished and the second floor balcony faces west, so you always see the sunset over the water. you’re in no hurry to move again, not yet, and so you don’t look too seriously at anything your realtor sends you. tobin holes herself up in her studio for hours most days and you easily allow her this: she’s going to retire too, because physically she has to; she’s said to you so many times that she’s ready, but you give her space because she’s always been quiet and gentle and takes her time to process the big things.

one day, near the end of the regular season, she takes your hand as you walk along the strand, sipping coffee in the morning. she’s buzzing with energy, which should’ve been a red flag for you because it’s so early, but you’d been distracted by her abs when she’d walked out of the shower in just a towel — who can blame you?

she stops in front of a house that looks to be under construction, and waits expectantly for a few seconds, her eyes big, shifting from foot to foot nervously, before it dawns on you.

‘please don’t be mad, chris,’ she rushes to say. ‘i know we should’ve talked about it, because, like, it’s a _house_ , and my therapist is pissed at me right now, so, like, i know i shouldn’t have bought it without talking to you first, but i’ve been working on the entire thing with stuff you’d love, and it’s going to be really, really big, so we can raise our family here, if you want, and i designed this cool gender neutral nursery, and i made sure that there would be a yoga room facing east, for the sunrise, and —‘

you kiss her: what else can you do? her whole body thrums away beneath your hands on her hips; you steady her as best you can because she’s shaking a little.

‘you should’ve definitely talked to me,’ you say, and her face falls. you squeeze her hips. ‘wanna show me around?’

her _smile_ knocks all the breath out of you; she takes your hand.

/

the day comes sooner than either of you are ready for, you think, but also you’ve been longing for it a little bit too.

there’s cheering and huddles and all the honors and accolades after the game, a standing ovation when you’re subbed off. your love of football didn’t start because of her, of course not, but your entire world lit up when you met her, the first time you watched her play.

tobin smiles and hugs everyone and waves to the crowd and it surprises you when you feel tears on your cheeks. neither of you care too much anymore — what is there to really care about at this point — so she wipes them with a squeeze to your shoulder.

eventually, after you shower and have dinner and drinks with your teammates, after you hug everyone — it’s time to go home.

you do, and you go through your routine together in the beautiful master bath that was the last thing finished up on your house. you’re about to get into bed, because you don’t really know what else to do with yourself, when tobin hovers at the door of the bathroom, scratches the back of her neck.

‘what’s up?’

she lets out a breath. ‘do you want to go play?’

something releases inside of you, because all you’ve ever needed was a little space and a ball and now you have tobin — your wife, the love of your life, one of the best players who has ever existed. ‘more than anything,’ you say.

you turn on the flood lights in your little yard and goof around 1v1, barefoot in the grass, for what feels like hours, neither one of you wanting to stop. but, eventually, you get tired, and tobin is limping a little, so you call it by squeezing her hand.

‘i can’t believe it’s over,’ she says, flopping down onto her back.

you lie down next to her, stay quiet.

‘is it … _wrong_? that i feel relieved?’

it’s soft and unsure, so you take her hand.

‘no,’ you say, think of the appointment you have coming up next week with your obstetrician, tobin’s propensity, lately, to stretch her own huge canvases in her studio, the empty room in your house with pale green walls. ‘we have the whole rest of our lives.’

she turns to face you, silent tears but a big smile. ‘yeah,’ she says. ‘the rest of our lives.’

/

you’re at the grocery store trying to decide on the best in-season citrus for the week when she calls you, a little frantically.

‘there’s a puppy,’ she says without a hello. ‘he’s available for adoption, they saw our application. like, _right now_ , chris.’

you don’t know anything about the puppy but you’d been on petfinder for the past month trying to get approved, and you almost drop the tangerines you’re holding. tobin had gotten as into finding this dog as you had, which means she’d fixated on it a little bit in her spare time.

‘okay, okay,’ you say, a little breathless. you have almost a full cart of groceries. ‘i’m going to get in line right now, and then we can just throw everything in the fridge and go, okay?’

‘ _hurry_ ,’ she says, and you wait a few minutes before you both end up laughing.

‘we got this.’

‘yeah, we’re ideal dog moms. we got this.’

/

you decidedly do _not_ got this about 90% of the time, because ronny — ronaldinho, formally, as tobin had _begged_ you — is a kelpie, the rescue thinks, black and grey and endlessly loving, but so smart and energetic he gives both of you a run for your money.

you have to take him out all the time and of course you’d had puppies before; you grew up with dogs. but this is different, because it’s up to you and tobin to care for him, to keep him out of the trash in the bathroom and to clean up after he misses the little pee pad in the corner of the kitchen and to calm him down when he gets too excited in the car on the drive to malibu.

tobin is endlessly doting, though, and talks to him like he’s a person, and orders him new toys all the time, even though he has so many. because he’s high maintenance, he needs to stick to a schedule, and one day, while you’re using tobin’s phone to order dinner, you accidentally open her notes app. she’s meticulously written down his schedule, and a lot of notes about his behavior on walks, and his friends at the dog park, and all of the commands your trainer is teaching you to work on with him. she has tricks she wants to try to teach him, complete with youtube links. her phone wallpaper is a picture of you and ronny running together along the cliffs in PV.

you have never known love greater than this, you think, when they get home and she gives you a full report on his puppy play class while he chews on her shoelace. tobin’s eyes crinkle around the edges when you scratch behind his ears and then pick him up like a baby, even though he whines in protest.

/

things are not always easy.

years of tobin pushing her body far beyond its healthy limit seem to catch up with her quickly, and all at once, in the winter. it’s not that cold, but mornings along that water become filled with shorter and stiffer walks than you’re used to.you know she doesn’t want you to notice, especially with the elation three months ago of finding out you were pregnant; you think her doting on your is mostly because she’s the most devoted person you know, but also a bit of a distraction.

one day you get home from prenatal yoga to find her still in bed, tears leaking down her temples. you’re filled with almost _terror_ when she tells you, through a quiet sob, that she doesn’t think she can get up because her back hurts too much.

you go through the doctor’s appointments, the scans and tests, and it becomes clear the extent of her chronic injuries is worse than either of you had known. she needs surgery, and she’s distraught at the prospect she might not fully recover, because, ‘i have to be able to lift the baby, chris. i have to hold our child,’ she admits, adamantly, one afternoon while you rest along the beach.

you soothe her as best you can, but you also make her do physical therapy when she “forgets,” and you make her take her pain meds when things get too bad; you drive her to appointments with an orthopedic surgeon, and then a neurosurgeon who specializes in the kind of surgery she needs. it’s hard, because tobin is proud and quiet and relentlessly self-sufficient — she always has been — so for her to need help, let alone reassurance, is difficult for her to accept. you deal with her mercurial anger, her silence.

it’s just what you do, though, because she’s also endlessly loving toward you and your unborn child; she wakes up early to let the dog out so you can sleep in a little longer or do yoga. she writes every day in a journal for your baby to read one day when they’re much older, about how excited she is to be their mom. she _worships_ the changes in your body, so much so that, whenever you feel insecure, you think her steadfast mission to prove to you that she really does think you’re holy will work in all its forms.

you’re four months pregnant — everyone knows now, too, which helps — when she has surgery. she kisses you goodbye solemnly before they wheel her back to the OR; you tell her that you love her and she squeezes your hand.

it’s a difficult surgery, but your sister and her mom sit with you in the waiting room. you hold her wedding ring in your palm, and the stupid little earring she always wears, which ends up making you laugh. eventually, her surgeons come out and tell you that everything went smoothly. she has months of recovery ahead of her, but this, at least, was a success.

she’s groggy and a little nauseous when you get to see her, so small in her big hospital gown and bed — but she smiles and holds your hand and talks to her mom and your sister; she assures you that she’s not in any pain, and her words are slurring so you do believe her.

rehab is hard, and painful, though, and she’s frustrated all the time. you had been nervous about ronny but he seems to understand that he has to be gentle, and he’s reluctant to ever leave tobin’s side; you find them napping on the couch together frequently.

still, she always picks up the weird food you’re craving when you ask, and she rubs your feet when they’re swollen. she has wonderful, thoughtful input at your company meetings; she laughs loudly at funny parts of her favorite shows and grumbles at bad calls when your dad comes over to watch march madness. you had been worried that something fundamental would change when she had to slow down, when she had to be _still_ — something you hadn’t known how to really tell her, something you’d just barely been able to verbalize in therapy — but you think, when it’s all said and done, she loves you just the same.

/

your obstetrician assures you a two hour flight is completely safe at seven months, and tobin’s physical therapist and surgeon sign off when you ask them. it’s not a big trip by any means, and you chartered a flight so the two of you wouldn’t have to deal with any commercial airline hiccups.

when you explain it to her the night before you leave, because you have to pack, she furrows her brows. ‘you’re _sure_ it’s safe?’

you put her hiking boots in a bag before placing them in the suitcase. ’yes.’

‘for the baby too?’

‘tobin,’ you say, fold the hoodie she hands you. ‘i _promise_ i made sure. it’s safe for all of us.’

she waits a beat and then her smile lights up her entire body. ‘i love the coast!’ she says, clearly thrilled. ‘thank you, baby.’

she tackles you back — gently — against the bed and kisses all over your face while you laugh.

/

you go back to the same small, sleepy seaside town in oregon you’ve been randomly visiting for years now when you’ve needed to get away from things. this time seems different, because you have to help her up down the steep stairs that lead from the big a-frame you rented to the beach, and the baby won’t stop kicking so you have to pee every five minutes, and ronny cries when he sees the water and sprints along the shoreline to chase the gulls.

but even though it’s different, and some things are worse — it’s so, so beautiful. tobin talks about how your eyes are the same color as the sea when it gets stormy in the afternoon, and you sit out on your balcony and share a cheese plate while she has a glass of wine. she’s gotten a little thinner, and you know she’s still in pain sometimes, but she sleeps in for a long time and you know, in that moment, you were right; sometimes you both just need rest.

on your last day there, she goes on a slow, meandering walk in the rain to pick up the takeout you’d ordered, even though you’d offered to drive. you’re a little worried, but to appease your anxiety she reluctantly takes the cane her doctors had given her that she mostly has refused to even touch, let alone use properly.

she comes back half an hour later with your saag paneer and a sad little bouquet of flowers. ‘i got them from the corner store,’ she explains, presenting them to you while she wipes stray raindrops from her cheeks.

‘they’re… beautiful,’ you say, and you both end up laughing.

‘i love you,’ she says, as sincerely as she’s ever meant it before. even though your eyes do, admittedly, mirror the color of the sea here, you think this is the place she’s most like: quiet, shifting with the tide, unshakably powerful, steady — a harbor, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

‘i love you too.’

she makes love to you for hours, and you stare at the stars and the waves and the swaying of the seagrass outside the window afterward. you trace the small red scar along her spine, which is growing less angry by the day.

/

you have a natural water birth which you regret for a few contractions but overall is so beautiful. your body has amazed you for your entire life but you’ve never been astounded by its strength — in the ninetieth minute, during the world cup — like you are during your labor. it feels like a miracle, when your son is born. tobin weeps, although she kisses the top of your head and then hesitantly reaches out to touch the soft skin of your baby’s shoulder when they place him — screaming — on your chest. his hands are in the tiniest fists and he’s still covered in fluids and you’re definitely sure you peed in the tub but it’s the most beautiful moment of your life, hands down, when you feel his weight against your skin.

‘my boy,’ tobin whispers, brushes her thumb along the shock of dark curls matted down against his head. his skin is a little darker than yours; one day, his eyes will be green. you look up at her and it seems like she can’t quite catch her breath in her wonder.

your doula taps her on the shoulder after a few minutes and hands her a pair of scissors, and she gets to cut his umbilical cord, which she does with shaky hands.

‘chris,’ she says, in absolute awe when he opens his eyes for the first time, only to close them angrily at the bright lights. ‘christen, _god_ , he’s so beautiful,’ she tells you. ‘you did so good.’

you’re too tired to really say anything, and you feel yourself crying too. you kiss her cheek, nod. ‘do you want to hold him?’

she looks momentarily terrified but then says, ‘yeah, dude. like, more than anything.’

you roll your eyes and she blushes but you hand him carefully to her chest. she’s in a sports bra and shorts, so he’ll feel her skin and warmth too.

‘hey, little man,’ she says softly, even though he’s still crying, and now you understand why she’d been so breathless. ‘or, little lady, or little whatever, you’re just a kid so we don’t know, only you’ll know that. you can be our son for now, i guess.’

you smile and she’s already in her own little world with this kid, so you just catch your breath and watch.

‘you’re so awesome, dude. you did the best job being born.’ she grins up at you. ‘and your mom… she’s blown me away for years but that was the coolest, grossest thing i’ve ever seen.’

it makes you laugh and at the sound, the baby calms. you look to each other in joy and then you start crying all over again.

‘this is the best day of my life,’ she says. ‘christen, thank you.’

/

you get home from a meeting to see tobin fast asleep on the couch, topless, while the baby sleeps against her chest, and ronny is asleep at her feet.

you snap a picture on your phone to send to pinoe but then you pocket it, pour two glasses of really nice wine, and go wake her up.

you put the baby in his bassinet and sit on the balcony looking over the sunset. he coos a little bit seems happy enough to stare at his little mobile of elephants. ronny pads out and lies down at tobin’s feet.

‘we really did it, huh?’

she kisses the top of your hand.

‘we really did.’

**Author's Note:**

> if it helps i could theoretically write more in this vague future universe. lmk, send me prompts/lil moments u would wanna see — i’m on tumblr @ possiblistfanfiction


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